


Imagine Living Like A King Someday

by conshellation



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, BAMF!Phil, Blow Jobs, Boarding School, Drunken Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Phan Angst, Phan Fluff, Phan Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7796140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conshellation/pseuds/conshellation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is a boarding school student, and he has pretty much everything. His dad owns the school, he’s pretty popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – he’s the King. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Some students are assholes to Dan, including Phil at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Living Like A King Someday

**Author's Note:**

> i originally posted this to tumblr but i thought i'd bring it here too. new chapter updates should be fairly regular as i've written most of it already. enjoy!!

 

There’s a knock at the door.

“What?” Phil mumbles into his pillow his voice thick with sleep.

“It’s seven thirty, Philip,” a female voice answers from the other side of the door.

Phil shuts his eyes tighter than they already are. He _hates_ early classes.

“M’kay,” he mumbles back, rolling out of the precious warmth of his duvet and stumbling over to the door. He unlocks it with a clumsy click, pushing it open.

Mary’s holding a tray. “Breakfast,” she hands it over to him cheerily.

Phil gives her a sleepy smile, stepping over to the side so she can bring it in for him. Usually this would be a job he’d take on himself, leaving her with a grateful nod and a quick ‘ _thanks_ ’, but having gone to sleep at such an ungodly hour last night, he doesn’t have any faith in himself to carry a tray that heavy without dropping it. He isn’t the most co-ordinated person anyway, even _less_ so when he’s running on about two hours sleep.

“Thanks,” he sighs when she places it down, pushing the clutter covering his desk to the side in order to make room for it.

“Don’t be late,” she warns, neatening up the cutlery a little and pressing down the filter on the mini cafetière for him. “Your father wants to have a word with you before class.”

Phil’s stomach tightens as she sees herself out of the bedroom. A ‘word’ is never good news.

 _“_ Did he say what about?” he mumbles, trying to hide the concern in his voice.

Mary shakes her head apologetically. “He just told me he wants you dressed and down to his office by eight o’clock.”

“Okay,” he gulps. “Thanks. For, y’know,” he nods awkwardly towards the breakfast tray.

“My pleasure,” Mary smiles, making for the door. She leaves him with a final reminder of “don’t be late”, and then she’s gone.

Phil nods, but he can’t mask the anxiety quickly swirling inside his stomach for long after the door closes behind her.

Then the possibilities begin to flood his mind; fuck, what if he’d found out about the cigarette he’d had behind the Sports hall last week? Well, it was just a puff or two from Liam’s so it wasn’t technically _his_ wrongdoings, but still – being the most well-known student in the entire fucking _school_ , his face is recognisable to everyone; he can’t get away with _anything_. Everything, – _everything_ he does gets back to his father somehow.

His father, Professor Edward J. Lester, is the owner of Southview Boarding School for Boys. Also known city-wide as that ‘ _posh school’_ , the ‘ _rich kid place’_ , or better still, the ‘ _twat factory’_.

Phil reckons had he not been born into the family ownership of the school, he’d be inclined to agree with the majority of those ingeniously selected nicknames. They do have quite the reputation, he can’t deny that – to pay nine thousand pounds for a term here you probably might have to be a ‘rich kid’, and yeah; the school is a home to a good bunch of twats, but isn’t _everywhere_?

Phil likes his school, though. His opinion may be a little biased considering he gets the best treatment schoolwide (he has a _maid_ , for god’s sake); as well as the best bedroom in the school (the only one with an en-suite, much to the envy of his friends), is taught by nothing lower than the doctors and professors of the school, and above all, he isn’t exactly _un_ popular amongst his peers. Yeah, it’s frustrating having every single movement he makes watched and reported back to his father, and okay, he should probably be more careful before accepting a cigarette from one of his friends, but being in his position, he can’t exactly _complain_.

He sighs, reaching for a croissant although he isn’t really that hungry anymore. He chews thoughtfully, processing everything and anything that could’ve possibly made its way back to his father. What about that History essay he’d forgotten to hand in last Tuesday? Or the English assessment review he should’ve completed two days ago? Fuck, maybe he’d found out about the-

Phil shuts his eyes, taking another bite of his croissant. He can’t let himself worry too much – his father already knows about the History thing – due to the special treatment, he’d been kindly given an extended deadline on it, and no-one’s actually caught up with him about the assessment review thing yet so it can’t be that important, right?

It’s only the cigarette thing he needs to worry about, despite that happening at ten p.m. in an area thankfully blind to the CCTV. He’ll just grovel a lot and listen to half an hour of ‘ _I’ve never agreed Liam is a particularly good influence on you, and-…_ ’ before being let off with a warning.

Yeah, he thinks. He has nothing to worry about.

He _thinks._

-

If it weren’t his own father he was about to face, Phil’s would quite literally be shitting himself right now. Still, the head office corridors seem considerably longer and, for want of a better term, _scarier_ than he’d remembered and his croissants threaten a reappearance when he actually makes it to the door and sees his father’s name engraved on the gold plaque, but he manages to digest his anxiety and compose himself enough to give the door a feeble knock.

No response. He frowns a little, before knocking again with a little more confidence this time.

“Is that you, Phil?” the voice on the other side of the door answers, and Phil gulps.

“Yeah,” he manages a reply, his voice nothing more than a nervous squeak.

“Come in,” he immediately notices his father’s voice carries no hard edge and he sounds generally pretty relaxed, but Phil knows he can never be too certain – being the fucking owner of the entire school, he deals with difficult students every single day and it’s all too easy to come off as calm at a first appearance, so he’s still hesitant.

But after a deep breath, he manages to do just as his father says, and seconds later the door’s open and the smell of black coffee filling the office is too strong and Phil feels _really fucking sick_ now.

“Have a seat,” he indicates to the leather chair facing opposite his own. Phil feels like he’s about to have a fucking job interview. His eyes hover over the many, many versions of himself staring back at him in framed photos dotted around his father’s office; his year nine school photo, with bright eyes and brushed hair, him in year eleven standing on a stage accepting a Maths trophy, what appears to be him holding three certificates in year six (all of them Head teacher’s awards of some significance), and even some picture of him in a beach surrounded by crumbling sandcastles from eight summers ago. He’s _everywhere_.

“So-…” his father snaps open his glasses case and puts the golden chain around his neck, hitching them higher up the bridge of his nose. That’s never a good sign; it means he’s going to read through documents, which are probably something to do with Phil meaning they have to be reports of his terrible behaviour over this term and he’ll find out about the smoking and the physics test Phil failed last week and the psychology lesson he didn’t turn up to and _fuck_ , he’ll get kicked out of his own family-run school and he’ll have to go to one of the shitty ones and his father will disown him and-

“So, you’re okay with that, aren’t you? I figured I’d run it by you now a little later, because I didn’t think it’d be much of an issue, but-“

“Okay with what?” Phil stutters. He’d been too preoccupied with planning his future after he gets kicked out of here to listen to what it was his father was actually saying.

His father rolls his eyes. “With the new maid arrangements. Mary’s retiring.”

 _Maid_ arrangements?

“What?” Phil’s eyes widen.

“She’s been toying with the idea, on an off for about three months now. She says you’ve been a pleasure to serve, but she’s had a post-retirement job offer up in Sheffield and well-“ he shakes his head. “Anyway; I just thought it was worth mentioning.”

“When’s she leaving?” Phil frowns.

“Next Tuesday,” Phil’s father replies. “Luckily, however, we’ve been looking at replacements for you. I mean, as you can probably imagine, there aren’t really many takers for a job like this so we _are_ fairly tight on people, but I’m sure we’ll find someone in time,” he smiles reassuringly.

“Oh,” Phil tries to take it in, although the new relief that washes over him due to the fact his father obviously hasn’t dragged him in here to give him a firm word about smoking on the school premises or being a bad son or anything, is distracting enough. He feels his shoulders relax. “That’s okay. I’ll miss Mary, though.”

“We will, too. She was very good to you, was Mary. Still-“ he sighs, putting various fodders back in a filing cabinet. “-a change can’t hurt, can it?”

Phil shakes his head in agreement, enjoying the feeling of no longer having heart palpitations. “How many people have you looked at for the job so far, then?”

Phil’s father considers. “Three, or so. They all seem pretty suitable, within reason, but we’ll make a final decision once we’ve gone through them all. There is this _one_ guy, but-“ he shakes his head, swallowing the words on his lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out for you.”

Phil narrows his eyes, but doesn’t push any further. He’s just thankful the chances of him making it out of this door alive are pretty good, now. “Is that everything?” he asks, gripping the leather arms of the chair, ready to stand up and make a move.

“No,” Phil tenses up again, his heart in his throat. _Fuck_.

He watches, frozen, as his father searches through another folder, through the neat stack of paper, until he finds it. He pulls out a large brown envelope. Phil frowns.

He hands it over to him, a half-grin playing on his face. “Drop this off to Professor Harrison on your way, will you?”

Phil releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his chest falling as he takes the envelope. “Sure.”

“What would I do without you, eh?” he grins, his glasses glinting. “Now, on your way – you’ll be late to Biology. I’ll see you this evening.”

Phil smiles, taking the envelope. He makes for the door clutching the paper and enjoys the lack of nausea in his system. He’d _gotten away with it_.

Sometimes, just _sometimes_ , it’s really cool having your dad as the head teacher of your school.


End file.
